


My Heart is the Worst Kind of Weapon

by sadtrash



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Actual Idiots, Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Amputee Bucky Barnes, Cap Steve, First Meetings, M/M, Meet-Cute, Modern Bucky, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Shrunkyclunks, Steve has a dog, Therapy, Vomiting, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-09
Updated: 2016-08-09
Packaged: 2018-08-07 15:52:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7720750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sadtrash/pseuds/sadtrash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky got hammered and accidentally broke into Captain America's apartment. </p><p>It's okay though, he was looking for Sam.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Heart is the Worst Kind of Weapon

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys! This is my first fic posted to this website and I'm very excited so I hope you all like ;))))

Bucky was ready to get _hammered_.

He’d had a long day. He’d been forced to cancel his shift at the bar for a one-on-one session with his therapist. Bucky much preferred the group sessions where he wasn’t forced to share anything, but he could listen to other vets’ stories. Sam was a better therapist than his regular one anyway. He hated one-on-ones. Those sessions tended to drain his energy. The ones where his therapist actually made him talk about _feelings_ and _fears_ and shit he just doesn’t want to talk about.

But, "You can’t keep everything bottled in, James. It’s not healthy." Okay, fine. (He doesn’t care, really.)

He told her he was thinking about going back to school. Maybe for mechanics. That sounded like something he’d like to do.

She had smiled and told him she thought it was a great idea. He had sat there, thinking maybe he shouldn’t have told her. Some things he liked to keep to himself. And those things were his thoughts.

He didn’t like going to one-on-one therapy sessions. He didn’t really like his therapist. But now he was here, at a club he’s never been to somewhere in DC with a couple of his friends.

And boy did he get _hammered_.

~

Bucky honest to god giggled as he clumsily thundered up the rusty fire escape steps. He fell - again - onto another dirt-covered landing. He forced himself to get back up, struggling with his inebriated state of mind and only arm to get him back to his feet. His sweatshirt was miraculously still pinned up on his left side. He’d done a good job that morning.

Only one more flight and then he could get to Sam. He had tried the main entrance of the apartment complex first, but had found it locked. Luckily, he had the fantastic idea to just climb up the fire escape and surprise him at his window. Genius.

Bucky started to hum the Indiana Jones theme song as he ascended the last few steps. He stopped at Sam’s window and his humming turned into laughter when he realized it was open a crack. Sam must’ve been expecting him. The only viable reason.

He and Sam weren’t even that good of friends. Sam had invited him over one time for a few beers after a group session where Bucky had finally gained the courage to actually share what had happened to his arm. It was the usually IED story. There was a jeep. He was in the jeep. He drove the jeep over an IED. He killed three of his privates. He lost an arm.

He won’t get over it.

But Sam helped. So there he was. Outside of Sam’s window. Again, genius.

He jammed his fingers under the window and wiggled it all the way open. The window was a bit narrow, but he managed to squeeze through.

He fell the rest of the way in once his torso was through, and he banged on top of the counter before flopping onto the floor. Ow. He groaned, curled up on the floor. He was starting to get a bit tired. Maybe surprising Sam could wait.

Bucky was on the verge of sleep all of a sudden. The wooden floor was surprising comfortable. But then there was a clicking noise.

 _Click, click, click_. All in rapid succession. Something coming closer to him on the hardwood. He jerked and his head lolled to the side. He blinked, trying to clear his bleary vision. All he saw was something fluffy and brown coming closer.

He burst out laughing when it licked his face, tongue gross and warm and wet. He didn’t know Sam had a dog. He rolled all the way over to embrace it. The dog wiggled out of his grip though, and Bucky pouted and whined.

The lights then flickered to life, and Bucky groaned, throwing his arm over his eyes. "Turn tha’ back off," he mumbled, starting to roll around to get back on his feet.

"Who are you?" someone snapped.

Bucky had gotten himself into a sitting position, leaning back against some cupboards. He stared at the guy in front of him. He was definitely not Sam. "The real question," Bucky slurred, pointing an accusatory finger, "is who are _you?_ "

The guy looked puzzled. And he looked _hot_ like that. He probably looked hot all the time, though.

"And what the fuck is _that?_ " Bucky’s eyes landed on the shield the guy was holding out in front of him, covering his chest. It was circular and bright red and blue, all with a star in the middle. Bucky laughed at it. “It’s like Captain America!” he exclaimed giddily.

The guy lowered the shield thing, looking even more confused. "Uh-"

"You’re not Sam," Bucky pointed out, cutting him off and starting to stand up again. He nearly tripped on his own feet, catching himself on the counter. He laughed at himself.

"Um, no," hot guy said. "I’m not."

Bucky blinked at him groggily. "Well where’s he?" he slurred, waving a hand out in front of him. Hot guy was not very helpful.

"Sam’s on a trip," he explained, bending over to lean the shield against the back of the couch. "He said I could stay here while he was away. He didn’t mention anything about drunks breaking in through the window."

"It’s okay," Bucky smiled.

"Do you-" the guy stopped, checking Bucky over. Bucky preened. "Do you at least _know_ Sam?"

He seemed pretty worried. Bucky didn't like that. Hot guys should never be worried. He sauntered forward - well, he tried to. He ended up stumbling, but luckily hot guy was right there. Bucky tripped and fell, right into that guy’s warm, muscular chest. He could feel the heat of his skin through the thin, white shirt.

"S’nice," he mumbled into the guy’s chest.

The guy’s hands came up and gently grabbed Bucky’s shoulders. Bucky flinched away, despite how badly he wanted to lean into him.

"Sorry, sorry," he muttered, letting his hand drop from Bucky’s shoulder to his side.

Bucky liked that a lot better. "You’re really attractive," he murmured, right into his ear. He leaned back to watch the guy blush. It was a beautiful sight. The apples of his cheeks grew bright red, and traces of pink went all the way down his collar bone and under his shirt. Bucky wanted to find out just how far that blush went.

"O-okay," the guy stammered, trying to lead Bucky away from him. "Let’s sit down, yeah?" he offered.

Bucky nodded, but that made his head dizzy, and he didn’t feel too great anymore. He stumbled backwards, trying uselessly to push the guy away. His stomach rolled, and he keened over, heaving up everything he’d had to drink.

The guy made a surprised sound and backed up, but he didn’t let go of Bucky’s shoulder. Bucky stared at the mess he made, breathing heavily. “Fuck. M’sorry,” he mumbled. His insides flopped again. "I think I’m gonna-"

"All right," the guy said, directing Bucky around his vomit. "Bathroom’s this way."

He had to practically carry Bucky, even if he tried his hardest to actually walk on his own.

"M’really sorry," Bucky said.

"I know," hot guy said, rubbing his shoulder.

They got to the bathroom and he lowered Bucky down in front of the toilet. He sagged against the bathtub and clenched his eyes shut so he didn’t have to watch hot guy’s concerned face swim in front of him.

"I’ll be right back," he told Bucky. "Just gonna go clean up the mess."

Bucky groaned, half in embarrassment and half in pain as his stomach protested again.

"Just hang on."

And Bucky was alone. He pressed his forehead against the cool porcelain of the toilet. Weren’t hangovers supposed to happen in the morning? He just wanted to see Sam, and as luck would have it, now he’s throwing up in front of some incredibly attractive man that had an uncanny resemblance to Captain America. He even had the fucking shield.

It took Bucky’s intoxicated brain a few moments before it finally clicked. He just threw up on the actual Captain America. He retched into the toilet bowl, stomach heaving and brain fuzzy.

He groaned when it finally stopped. He probably looked disgusting. He knew he smelled of alcohol and puke, and he might’ve gotten some in his hair, which was already greasy from sweat. His stomach did not settle.

Actual Captain America came back not too long after Bucky had thrown up for the second time. And he was shirtless this time.

 _Fuck_.

Bucky did not want to deal with a naked Captain America right now. He was kind of mortified that the reason he was shirtless was because he had thrown up on him. He kneeled beside him and placed a hand on his back. Bucky could feel the heat of his skin basically radiating off of him now that his shirt was off. "This doesn’t seem like a good time," Captain America said, “but what’s your name?”

"You’re Captain America," Bucky moaned from where his head was hanging inside the toilet.

Captain America laughed. "Yeah, I am. Now who are you?" he tried again.

"Bucky," Bucky muttered, turning his head just in time to see Captain America smile. "Ugh," he groaned. "I know."

"No, no," Captain America assured him, rubbing his shoulder blade thoughtfully. "I like it. I’m Steve, by the way."

Bucky knew that, but he didn’t want to admit it and make this seem more real than it already was. He only nodded, body clenching just as he threw up again.

Steve stayed by his side, rubbing his back and holding his hair away from his face. "It’s okay, you’re okay," he murmured.

When Bucky stopped, he clumsily flopped his hand around, looking for the toilet’s handle. "M’done. I swear."

Steve laughed. "Sometimes I’m glad I can’t get drunk anymore."

Bucky groaned, glaring at him. "Not helpful," he bemoaned.

"Sorry." Steve gave him a small smile. "So, how do you know Sam?"

Bucky blinked up at him, head resting sideways on the now-closed toilet lid. "How does Sam know _Captain America?_ " Bucky responded. His VA counselor was never the kind of guy that gloated, but it still baffled Bucky on how Sam was good enough friends with Captain America that he would let him stay in his apartment.

"That’s classified, pal. Sorry." He ran a soothing hand down Bucky’s back, and Bucky shivered. Steve misinterpreted it. "Are you cold? I can grab one of my sweaters," he offered.

Why was Captain America so nice?

Bucky shook his head as well as he could against the porcelain lid. "M’fine," he mumbled. "Jus’ tired."

Steve was apparently really intent on commiserating; the next thing he said was, "You wanna crash on the couch? I’m sure Sam wouldn’t care."

Bucky blinked owlishly up at him. "Thanks, Stevie."

Steve blushed again at the nickname, and Bucky beamed. He _loved_ making Steve blush.

"You’re a lot cuter in person," he said.

Steve looked down, avoiding eye contact. But he was smiling. Bucky smiled back.

"I brought you water," he finally said, grabbing the glass from the sink. He held it out to Bucky, and he tried to get a good enough grip to hold it. He ended up spilling, and water sloshed down the sides of the glass and onto the tiled floor.

"Whoops," Bucky mumbled, taking a long drink. He didn’t take his eyes off of Steve though. Steve was too pretty for that.

"Yeah, whoops," Steve echoed, snatching a towel from the rack to wipe it up. "Come on, big guy," Steve said, taking the glass from Bucky and starting to pull him to his feet. Bucky clung to Steve around his neck, tumbling along with him as he walked Bucky back to the living room.

"You smell nice," Bucky told him as he sat down. He didn’t let go of where he was clutching Steve’s bare shoulder.

Steve chuckled as he tried to get Bucky laying down. Bucky obliged, looking expectantly up into Steve’s ridiculously blue eyes. Bucky thought he’d like to tell Steve just how blue his eyes were.

"Your eyes are really blue," he said intelligently. He never wanted to stop looking at them

"Thanks, Buck," Steve laughed, yanking a blanket off of the armchair beside them. He handed it to Bucky, but he just clutched onto it in his hand, staring at Steve’s eyes. "You know what a blanket is, right?" Steve questioned, genuinely worried.

Bucky giggled, smacking Steve light-heartedly right on the face. "Course I do, silly," he told him.

Steve caught his hand and lowered it down to his stomach. "Night, Buck. I’m gonna call Sam and see what he has to say about this."

Bucky’s heart jumped nervously. He and Sam didn’t know each other that well. What if Steve kicked him out. "Wait." Then he thought of the best possible thing to do in this scenario. He messily grabbed Steve behind his neck and tugged him down for a kiss.

It was sloppy and Steve pulled back too soon. He whined, which would have sober Bucky completely red from embarrassment, but Bucky was definitely _not_ sober.

"Um, I-" Steve stuttered, still holding onto Bucky’s shoulder where he had pushed him away. "You- you’re drunk,” he told Bucky. “Really, really drunk."

Bucky nodded, agreeing. He _was_ drunk. _And_ he had just thrown up. Probably not attractive. But he felt good, so what was wrong with kissing Steve? He tried to kiss him again, but Steve just laughed and easily kept him at bay.

"Night, Buck," he repeated, and he actually left Bucky alone on Sam’s couch.

Bucky threw an arm over his eyes once he was gone. Even his intoxicated self was regretting what just happened. But then again, Steve’s lips were just begging to be kissed; big and plump and red. _Just begging_.

~

Bucky woke up when something warm and wet and spongy started attacking his face. He groaned and shifted. His head was pounding something fierce, and now his face was gross and sticky. He cracked his eyes open, and startled when he realized there was a dog in front of him, panting and enjoying itself as it breathed into Bucky’s face.

Bucky jolted into a sitting position to get away from the warm stench of dog breath, and instantly regretted it. His brain throbbed and his stomach turned.

He planted his feet on the floor and hung his head, trying to breathe away the oncoming vomit. When he opened his eyes again, he saw a small trash can sitting off to the side. His stomach seemed to like that. He reached for the can and held it between his knees as he violently threw up whatever was left in his stomach from last night. The dog in front of him was staring at him, happily panting away. Its pink tongue lolled out of the side of its mouth. Bucky scowled at it, cuddling a trash can of his own puke to his chest.

"Morning, stranger," said a voice behind him. It was way too cheerful for Bucky’s liking. After he had jumped, he turned around to glare at whoever the voice belonged to.

Last night was fuzzy. _Really_ fuzzy. But Bucky did recall climbing into Sam’s apartment. This was not Sam. He was about to demand what the hell was going on, but this guy looked familiar. It took a few moments of unintelligible staring for it to click.

"Fuuuck," Bucky groaned, setting the trash can down and putting his head in his hand. "Fuck."

"You all right?" Fucking Captain America asked. He actually sounded concerned.

"No," Bucky grunted, muffled by his hand. After a few moments, he’d finally gained enough courage to stand up and face him.

Oh, god he shouldn’t have done that. Steve was looking at him with an all-American, puppy dog face. His eyes were wide and sincere, and his full lips were all pouty and red. Captain America should not look so sinful and puppy-like at the same time. It just wasn’t fair.

"I made breakfast," he offered hopefully, motioning with a spatula to some eggs and toast.

Bucky moaned. "You are a godsend," he told Steve as he walked over and settled himself on a stool. Steve stood across from him and smiled bashfully. "I, uh- I’m _really_ sorry," he started, but Steve waved him off with that smile of his.

"Don’t worry about it. I had fun making sure you didn’t choke on your own vomit," he said casually, stirring the scrambled eggs in the pan.

Bucky lowered his head so it was cradled in the crook of his elbow resting on the counter. "I threw up on Captain America," he lamented.

Steve laughed. "Yes, you did do that," he chuckled. "Toast?" he offered, snatching a prepared plate off the counter and holding it out.

Bucky groaned again, but he took the plate given to him. He started tearing the toast apart into smaller pieces before stuffing it into his mouth gratefully. He hummed appreciatively. He watched as Steve blushed lightly and looked away, focusing his attention back on the eggs.

Bucky smirked. "So, why exactly did you let me spend the night? I literally climbed in through the window and puked all over you."

Steve glanced over at him. "I don’t know," he admitted. "You’re a cute drunk."

It was Bucky’s turn to blush, and now they both had red cheeks. He recomposed himself though, and smiled at Steve when he scooped some eggs onto Bucky’s plate straight from the pan.

"Sorry," Steve continued. "That was probably a little straightforward." He rubbed the back of his neck nervously.

"No, no," Bucky assured him, watching with amazement as Steve lit up all red once more. "You’re good. I kind of owe it to you for taking care of drunk me. I know I’m a handful."

"Other than the vomiting, you were all right."

" _Please_ don’t remind me," Bucky begged.

Steve laughed, light and happy and just all-around wonderful. Bucky liked it when he made Steve laugh.

"So," Steve continued, " _Bucky_."

Bucky gave him an unamused look. He knew what was coming next.

"Where’d you get that name, huh?" he asked, smiling around the mug he had brought to his lips, steam curling around his face.

"Okay, _Captain America_ ," Bucky replied, teasing. "Berate me about _my_ name." He huffed out a laugh.

"It’s a codename," Steve defended. "What’s your excuse?"

"Childhood nickname I couldn’t shake. It grew on me after awhile." He shrugged. "Got anymore coffee?"

Steve obligingly handed over an already prepared mug of coffee. "It’s black, I hope you…" Steve trailed off as Bucky started to inhale it. "...Don’t mind." Steve tilted his head like the puppy he was, watching him curiously.

Bucky moaned, and he didn’t even care that the sounds he was making were resembling that of a porn star. He _loved_ his coffee. Especially for a hangover.

Steve licked his lips anxiously, and Bucky grinned at him.

After downing a good amount of coffee, he set down the mug and looked back at Steve. "I should probably get going. I’d hate to intrude even more," he said.

Steve’s face fell. Bucky hated that. Steve wore his emotions on his face and was terrible at hiding them. "Right, that’s fine. You’ll get home okay?"

And then a thought struck Bucky. "Fuck, we’re in Brooklyn, aren’t we?" He scratched at his hairline, trying to conjure up a plan to get home.

"Yeah, how far away do you live?" Steve asked, and it sounded suspiciously like an offer.

"Not too far." Bucky grimaced. It definitely wasn't close enough for walking distance. He didn’t have money for a cab or the subway.

"Let me drive you then," Steve offered, as suspected.

"You sure?" Bucky said, though he really, really wanted Steve to drive him.

Steve nodded. "Course. I’d love to."

~

Steve failed to mention that he’d be driving Bucky back to his apartment on a fucking motorcycle.

"Uh," Bucky stated, watching with fascination and enjoyment as Steve just swung his legs over the bike and straddled it. He looked back at Bucky expectantly.

"Coming?"

Bucky nodded, mouth a little dry. "So I just-" he pointed to the empty space, where he would be pressed against Steve’s back.

"Yeah, go ahead. Don’t be shy," he teased, revving the engine.

Bucky took a breath and joined Steve on the bike. Steve’s back was too hot. Don’t get him wrong, Bucky liked it, but he was not keen on obtaining a boner on the ride home. He settled down and tentatively wrapped his arm around Steve’s waist.

"This okay?" he asked, more of a whisper in Steve’s ear.

"Might wanna hold on a bit tighter," Steve suggested, voice breathy and low. That was hot. Bucky liked that voice.

He hummed low next to Steve’s ear, lifting his chin up higher so he could rest it on Steve’s shoulder. He tightened his grip, clutching at the fabric of Steve’s shirt and feeling the warm skin underneath. "This good?"

"Yeah, you’re good. Wouldn’t want you to fall or anything," Steve said, rolling the bike away from the curb.

Bucky was a little scared. He hadn't ridden a motorcycle since before when he had two arms. He knew he wasn’t driving, and plastering himself to Steve was definitely a comfort, but he didn’t want his arm to fail him and decide that holding on tightly to save his life wasn’t an option anymore.

The wind rushed over and around him, making his hair fly crazily behind him. He buried his head against Steve’s shoulder, blocking the wind and the sights.

Steve laughed warmly as he turned a corner. Bucky liked a man that could control his bike. And other things.

Bucky kept his grip tight, but not overwhelmingly so. He didn’t exactly want to bruise Steve. Not yet.

God, he needed to stop thinking about _Captain America_ like that. It was fucking Captain America. The epitome of the American culture. It was unlikely that he was gay, or into guys at all, lest, guys like Bucky who broke into his apartment and threw up on him. But Bucky couldn’t exactly help thinking about all the blushing and the compliments. Captain America had called him _cute_ for god’s sake.

Bucky didn’t waste his time being stuck to Steve like this. It probably would never happen again. He sighed against Steve’s warm shirt, silent in the roar of wind and other cars. Despite the speed and the openness of being on the bike, he felt safe here with Steve.

They eventually pulled up to Bucky’s apartment via his directions shouted over the wind. "This is me," Bucky said, throwing his leg back over the bike.

"Can I walk you to your door?" Steve asked, looking up at him expectantly.

"Course," Bucky obliged. "Can’t let Captain America waste all his manners." He smirked as Steve stood up, tucking his keys into his pocket. "This way."

"You’re really somethin’ else, you know?" Steve joked as they waited for the elevator.

"Ah, Stevie. You really know how to make a guy blush," he preened, bumping Steve’s shoulder with his own.

Steve kept his gaze down as they got in the elevator car. "It’s cute how you call me Stevie," he admitted, finally tearing his eyes from the floor to brave Bucky.

Bucky could not stop smiling. "Yeah? You’re pretty cute. Thought a nice nickname like that would suit you."

Steve shook his head, still grinning like an idiot. "Sorry, Buck, wish I had somethin’ for you, but I don’t think anything can get worse than _Bucky_."

Bucky gaped. "I’ll have you know I have a _fantastic_ name, Steve. Lay off a guy, will ya?"

Steve laughed. "Not possible, pal."

The doors slid open and Bucky sauntered out, Steve in tow. They walked down the hall together until Bucky stopped them at his apartment. He fished out his keys, surprised they were still in his pocket. He unlocked the door, but didn’t open it, keeping his hand on the knob. He looked at Steve. It was probably gonna be the last time they saw each other, so Bucky’s still-fizzy brain said ‘fuck it’.

He grabbed Steve’s head and kissed him hard, right on those sinfully plump red lips.

This time, Steve didn’t pull away. Instead, he kissed back, twining his arms around Bucky’s waist and holding him there.

Bucky was the one that pulled back this time, albeit regretfully. "I _really_ gotta shower," he defended, and Steve laughed.

"Okay," he agreed, but he dug into his pocket before pulling out his phone. "I’ll be expecting a phone call?"

Bucky took his phone from him, punching in his number. "And you’ll definitely get that phone call, Stevie," he assured him, pressing the phone back into his hand. He snuck one last brief kiss before slipping into his apartment, giddy as a teenager.


End file.
